Taking down Furious as late as possible to saddle him up in the pre-parade ring, Trixie ran slap into Eddie Alderton dropping four Alka-Seltzers into a teacup and about to ride Rupert’s second horse, Merchant of Venus.
‘Oh my gard,’ he yelled, utterly spooking Furious, ‘you are so gorgeous. Will you come out with me tonight? Oh my gard.’
Then he caught sight of Rafiq. ‘Oh deah, you’ve got that Rottweiler as a minder. And there’s Tarmy, hi Tarmy.’ He gave her a kiss which made Rafiq even crosser. ‘Better take a rain check,’ and he ran off laughing.
‘Who is he?’ gasped Trixie. ‘He’s hot.’
‘Rupert Campbell-Black’s grandson,’ sighed Tommy.
‘By the way Eddie’s putting himself about, Rupert’ll be a great-grandfather soon,’ giggled Dora, ‘which wouldn’t be good for his image.’
Tommy felt a tug at the heartstrings. Rafiq was still avoiding her. Had he, like Eddie and everyone else, fallen for Trixie?
125
To add to the excitement, Rupert Campbell-Black, a rarity on the National Hunt scene these days, had four runners. Rogue had already won races on two of them for him and was hoping for a treble on the mighty Lusty in the Gold Cup.
After dumping all Shade’s horses in St James’s Square because Shade had made a pass at his wife Taggie, Rupert had decided he was fed up with owners, who were even more rich, spoilt and difficult than himself, and had given up training other people’s horses.
Instead he was concentrating on breeding then running his own horses on the flat and, less frequently, over fences. Lusty was the son of Rupert’s most successful stallion, Love Rat, who’d won the 2000 Guineas, the Derby and the Arc. It would be a splendid advertisement for the yard and Love Rat’s prowess if Lusty, at the venerable age of ten, won the Gold Cup today.
Rupert had met Valent in Dubai and they’d got on so well that today they were sharing a box near the winning post. It was turning out to be the ritziest and noisiest of the festival, particularly as someone had smuggled in a CD player which was belching out loud music.
Another connection was that Rupert’s beautiful daughter Bianca was the girlfriend of Feral Jackson, Ryan Edwards’s dazzling new striker, who had been a contributory factor in Ryan’s team going to the top of the second league this season.
Valent and Rupert’s box was therefore packed with hunky footballers and WAGs tossing more long blonde hair. They were thoroughly over-excited to meet Rupert and naughty Eddie, and all were putting fortunes on Lusty and Rupert’s second horse, Merchant of Venus, in the Gold Cup.
Shade, glowering from a nearby box, was particularly insulted that Rupert, who always made him feel socially inferior, was captivated by a yob like Valent. Both had recent Dubai suntans, while Shade’s was getting a bit yellow.
Meanwhile, Rupert’s god-daughter Amber was coming apart at the seams. Last night, Marius had watched videos of former Gold Cups and of the morrow’s main runners with her and Rafiq to work out strategy, but her brain had retained nothing. All she longed for was a pair of arms round her but Rafiq was indifferent to her now, and after that glorious night at Leopardstown Marius had cooled as though it had never happened. Shade must immediately have told Olivia, who maybe had had a go at Marius.
Unable, like Rafiq, to cope with the badinage and dropped towels in the weighing room, she now had taken trembling refuge in the women’s dressing room. Her father was still in hospital. Never had she needed his comfort and guidance more. She had lost five pounds in the last fortnight, so had to carry even more lead in her saddle, which wouldn’t help Wilkie. Her wrist was agony from signing autographs. Someone had stolen her new lucky pants.
The expectations of the crowd and particularly the syndicate had got to her. If she wasn’t placed they’d forfeit their bets, any prize money, any hope in the Order of Merit and the half-million Shade and H-H had offered them to buy Wilkie. She must save her from that fate.
She’d got in such a panic, she’d nearly called Rogue at 4am. Today she hadn’t seen him. When he wasn’t winning races, he was touring the boxes giving them tips at £300 a visit.
Cabals were now gathering in the paddock. Broad backs turned to broad backs as Marius blanked Shade